Let's Play a Game
by martiangirlsworld
Summary: An extremely sadistic Moriarty kidnaps fem!Watson and leads a distraught Sherlock on a merry dance across Britain, leaving nasty breadcrumbs. Hints of Johnlock. Possible trigger-ish things? Tread lightly further in. This is part one, and part two is in progress. Somewhere between T and M really.
1. Prologue

No matter how many times she played it over in her head, she couldn't find a way out anymore than she could figure how he managed it in the first place. She wasn't particularly surprised, though. Moriarty was always five steps ahead of everyone, usually even Sherlock.

"_People aren't supposed to be nocturnal, Holmes."_

"_You only say 'Holmes' when you're annoyed with me, Watson, and it isn't about my midnight experimenting."_

"_Oh, _'midnight,'_ he says – You make me lose sleep."_

"_Why should you lose sleep when I stay up?"_

"_You abuse your body. Maybe it's 'just transportation' but you've got to be better to it if you want it to keep working, you idiot."_

"… _You lose enough sleep as it is, my dear Watson. I'll cut down on my late nights."_

"… _Thank you."_

So much for _that_ gesture of goodwill. He tried, but it didn't last long. If only he hadn't been passed out so solidly on the couch after messing around until two-thirty in the morning – but she couldn't really blame him. Moriarty would have found a way to get to her anyway…


	2. Ch 1: Dark Sunrise

February 20th

She woke with a start when a hand suddenly pressed against her mouth, smothering the indignant yell that accompanied instinct.

"Quietly, now, Dr. Watson…"

Moriarty, of course. She fought her desire to go on the offensive, knowing he always had something up his sleeve, usually several goons with nasty weapons. He put a finger to his lips, grinning, and three gunmen came out of the shadows, grabbed her, and tied up her wrists and ankles. Pulling her upright by the arm, Moriarty took a syringe out his pocket.

"Nighty-night, Jane," he whispered in his gloating, annoying, sing-song voice.

"_MYCROFT."_

"_Good Lord, Sherlock, keep your voice down."_

"_What have you done with Watson?!"_

"_Done? – Oh, dear. I haven't done anything; in fact, I thought she might have shaken me for a bit. You are sure she's not at work?"_

"… _Yes."_

"_I think it's time to call Lestrade, little brother."_

Jane woke up face-down on the floor of an abandoned old house, breathing dust from the carpet. As she struggled to sit up despite her wrists remaining tied, she saw Moriarty's expensive loafers a few feet away. For a moment she froze, but he didn't say anything, so she wriggled until she could prop her back against the wall and see what was happening. He waited until she had finished before he started talking.

"Moooorning, sunshine. I may as well tell you, you've only been out for a couple hours, so it's still dark outside – not that you'll see it."

"Oh, come off it. I am _so_ tired of being a pawn in your twisted games, Moriarty."

"A _pawn_? Oh, no, no, no. In this beautiful game of chess Sherly and I are playing, you, my dear, are the _queen_!" He smirked. "And I'm going to skin you and use your pretty little jade eyes to decorate my crown."

He strolled over to her and pulled another syringe out of his pocket. The drug began to affect her quickly after he injected it into her arm. She couldn't move, except basic functions and a feeble twitch of her fingers. His vaguely amused and arrogant expression changed instantly to terrifying malice, and he aimed a kick at her stomach. Punctuating every word with a kick…

"DO! NOT! TEST! ME! I! OWN! YOU! SO! MUCH! FOR! THE! SOLDIER!"

… Then he dragged her up and into the only piece of furniture in the room, a chair which, to her horror, was bolted to the floor. Half-blinded by pain, she saw a knife flick out in his hand, and her eyes widened. _Shit._

"Let's make some music for lover-boy, Doctor…"

_The whole neighborhood for a five-mile radius had been paid off or threatened to _not hear a thing_._


	3. Ch 2: It's Just Beginning

February 22nd

_Sherlock entered the house like a hurricane in a box, contained but somehow destructive. For once, he'd taken a second to text Lestrade the address before rushing off to the far side of Regent's Park – after all, he didn't have backup anymore. He knew that the dead silence couldn't be a good sign, that Moriarty's tricks were never solved in the first round, but the empty rooms were still horribly depressing._

_ "M." The letter was carved with customary flourish on the wooden door at the end of the hall. _The bastard_. As Sherlock walked towards it, he could hear his pulse deafeningly loudly in ears. _Please don't be here, Watson. Don't be dead_. The door was slightly ajar, and creaked as he gingerly reached out to open it. _Nobody home_. But the floor was covered in smears of dried blood. Sitting on the chair was an old-fashioned tape player. He braced himself and pressed play._

"Sherlock? … _Sherlock_? … SHERLOCK!" The yell pierced through a whirlwind of horrified, splintered thoughts and images Sherlock had been stuck in for the past twenty minutes. "Sherlock, what the hell happened? Are you alright? Where's Watson? What's with the tape pl— "

"Shut up! Shut up! … She's gone; she's not here; he moved her yesterday. _Yesterday_! DAMMIT!"

"Sherlock – "

"No, shut up, shut up!" Anderson was moving to grab the tape player. "DON'T TOUCH THAT!"

"Sherlock, we have to… we have to know. We're on the case, too, you know," Lestrade said quietly. Sherlock relented angrily, and Lestrade led him outside. Sherlock told him briefly of Moriarty's plan, and Lestrade insisted on Sherlock's being dragged home to Baker Street to be watched by Mrs. Hudson.

Unfortunately, that arrangement earned him a smack on the back of the head; Mrs. Hudson spent the night listening to Sherlock play tragic-sounding compositions on his violin. She thought he went to sleep around one-thirty, and dozed off herself, but he actually had a sort of epiphany. Hours of violin-playing had calmed his mind sufficiently for him to process what he had seen in and around the building. Two things in particular stood out: a ticket stub from the nearby tube station, and a large but faint footprint in the hall. Sherlock slipped out and hurried back to the scene to gather samples from the print, and was relieved to find that everyone had gone.

There was no way he could get what he needed from the samples without the equipment at St. Bart's, and there was no way Molly was going to open the lab at two in the morning… Watson would have to last another night. He paced until a hint of sunlight peeked through the early-morning haze.


	4. Ch 3: Marking Territory

February 23rd

Her screams echoed across the fields, but there was no one for miles around. Moriarty basked in the sound. They were in large tent in the middle of a huge expanse of farmland, and his gunmen were stationed at various strategic locations.

"Oh, Watson, it's a symphony!"

"GO TO HELL!" He just laughed, and bent down again, wiping his knife off on her arm. With a manic glint in his eyes, he started carving a huge, dramatically ornate "M" into her stomach, next to his drawing of a crown.

"_Molly!"_

"_Oh! Sherlock! You scared me. What are you doing here already?"_

"_It's Watson. I need your lab." He looked slightly crazed, and pushed past her when she opened the doors. He disappeared into a flurry of microscope slides and chemical tests, and did not reappear for hours. When she went to check on him, he ignored her completely, except to spit out, "Call Lestrade."_

Watson lay gasping for air as Moriarty cleaned his knives, humming "Stayin' Alive." The gunmen were taking down the tent, and she focused on the sunrise in the distance, trying desperately to control herself, to give Moriarty less of a show. By now, she'd realized that Sherlock was being led, and it was hard to stay strong when she probably still had days of captivity left.

"He'll catch up, you know," she said with as much force as she could muster. Moriarty turned towards her with a mocking expression, packing the set of knives away.

"Oh, eventually, of course, I'll let him catch up with _you_, love, but he's never going to catch _me_. No one ever does. It might be possible, but, you know, I'm _so_ changeable, so unpredictable. That's going to stay with you by the way… the 'M' on your fair stomach. I'm sure Sherlock would _love_ to see my mark on you when he goes to take you for himself."

"That… we're not like that, you sick bastard."

"Oh, sure you are, you just haven't realized it quite yet." He dropped the false good humor and turned to the workers. "Let's go! ETA in three hours!" Watson blacked out as she was bundled off the table and into a truck.

"_Sherlock?" Lestrade called. He emerged from a supplies closet._

"_Ah! Perfect timing! Swanbourne! Go! Go!" He made shooing motions._

"_What?" Sherlock began to look angry._

"_Must I explain everything? Paint residue, manure, fields, Swanbourne! Let's GO!"_


	5. Ch 4: I Won't Give Up

A/N: They arrived at the crime scene pretty early in the day. Sherlock has to deal with another day lost to grunt work and slow forensics labs. Lestrade is worried about him, in a very Jack Crawford way.

February 23rd

"Sherlock, you do know we're just playing his game?"

"Of course I know that! There's nothing else we _can_ do. He knows exactly how everything works, and he has a finger in every pie." Sherlock rubbed his face over his hands, and a fleeting grin lit his face for a moment. "She'd be yelling at me right now. 'For _God's sake_, you idiot, get some sleep!'"

"She'd be right," Lestrade said quietly, laying a hand on the detective's shoulder.

"I know… I know." He turned and strode out of the office, pulling out his phone to set an alarm. He hadn't slept since they'd realized Moriarty had Watson: three days, now. Hard as it had been to allow himself the option, he'd passed out on the sofa by the time Mrs. Hudson checked on him, and sleeping solidly – or at least he seemed peaceful.

"_SHERLOCK!"_

"_Watson? Watson, where are you?! How did you escape?" For a moment he was fooled._

"_I didn't. You still have to find me, Sherlock. Find my body, Sherlock."_

"_What? No. No! You're not dead, Watson. You're not dead! He won't kill you, he needs you."_

"_Is that a good enough reason, Sherlock? Find me, Holmes."_

"_Why are we in the underground, Watson? Where are you? Talk to me!"_

"_Oh, hurry, and find me, you pompous prat." The voice echoed._

"_Insulting me isn't helping, Watson, love." Did he just say "love"?_

"_Ohhhhh. Running around in a dreamy underground you can call me that?"_

"_I – I'm so sorry, Watson. Please! Please stay alive."_

"_Tick-tock, Sherlock." The voice sounded closer now. He ran as fast as he could._

"_Watson? Wats—Oh, God. No. No, no, no. No!" He found her body in a corner._

"_Should've had a heart, Holmes… Now you lost your voice." It was true. Suddenly, policemen swarmed everywhere, slow motion, and seeming not to see or hear him. Watson's body was taken away, and everyone slowly disappeared. As the crowd dissipated, he realized Moriarty was standing off to the side, smiling. As he reached for him, struggling to get to his feet – he hadn't noticed falling to his knees – the man simply faded away, laughing._

"Oh, _God_!" Sherlock shot awake just before the alarm went off. When he staggered to the washroom, he stopped in surprise to wipe the tears from his cheeks. That would never do. He set his expression before going back to the precinct, but Watson's lipstick was in his pocket as a reminder… Watson's lipstick, that she almost never wore… except when they went to dinner…


	6. Ch 5: She's MY Toy

February 24th

They were in a small patch of forest now, and she'd already tried to escape once, but Sebastian Moran stepping out from behind a tree with a wicked grin killed the idea of running instantly. As she sat in the grass waiting for Moriarty to appear, Jane rubbed a bruise across her cheekbone absently, wishing there was something, anything she could do.

"How do you like the sunshine, Doctor?" Moriarty asked, then grinned at her surprise.

"What – where the hell did you come from?"

"Oh, I like convenience. The road's not too far from here, and I had some non-Holmes business to attend to this morning." His eyes narrowed, and the good humor dropped from his face. "I don't recall marking your face quite so recently, Ms. Watson," he commented, his voice dangerously quiet.

She couldn't hide a smirk as Moran realized his employer's anger and turned pale.

"I – she tried to run, sir." He hoped keeping things simple would keep Moriarty from getting violent, but the mastermind stalked closer, glaring like he wanted to hang Moran from one the trees. Once he was about a foot away, the barely-restrained rage obvious, Moriarty took a deep breath.

"Watson is _mine_. If you make a mark on her again, I will ssskin you, do you understand?"

The gunman managed a terrified nod and a strained "Yes, sir" before escaping to guard duty. Finally, Moriarty turned to Jane, strode over to where she was sitting, and dropped to his knees beside her. She held as still as a bird hypnotized by a snake while his hands gently touched her face, examining the bruises. After a few moments, he stood up and stared at her impassively.

"Well, this has ruined the whole place. _Damn!_ And I try so hard to have quality employees, but no one really _gets_ it, do they? Ah, well. It doesn't matter if he ruined my mood; things must be done according to plan. Let's get on with it, Doctor." He walked over to large bag she hadn't noticed before and began unpacking ropes of various sizes, peering at them as though he hadn't decided which to use.

"This is going to be… _blunt_, isn't it?" she said grimly. He turned and grinned at her.

"So glad you have some observant sense in that pretty blonde head of yours. Of course, otherwise dear old Sherly would've gotten bored months ago, wouldn't he?"

_Sherlock poured over the lab results and microscopes slides and crime-scene photos slightly frantically. There was too much irrelevant data, too much clutter from the fields. Something was definitely not right, but he couldn't put his finger on it, and that was driving him crazy. Moriarty had a flair for the dramatic, and he wouldn't smother his clues like this. _Think, _dammit!_

_"… Sherlock? It's Donovan. Ah, Lestrade sent me to ask if you wanted to hear the latest tape again. He said the – the first time – it – it might have been harder to recognize a hint."_

_ "I appreciate that you are feeling more meek than usual due to my dilemma, Sally. Tell Lestrade that that's actually a good idea." She started to respond, but ended up leaving silently. _


	7. Ch 6: Here's the Threat

February 25th

_A veritable caravan of police vehicles covered the roads in Standon, patrolling slowly, clearly looking for something specific. Suddenly, one of the cars screeched to a halt, and a tall man in a dark coat leapt out and took off running for the small crop of woods nearby._

"_Holmes! SHERLOCK, where are you going?!"_

"_It's a bur oak, Lestrade! A BUR OAK!" he cried without breaking stride. Lestrade turned and stared at the young tree on the corner. The side road appeared to lead to a private farm, but he shrugged and followed Sherlock towards the forest._

"It was bad this time, wasn't it?" the inspector said quietly. He and Sherlock stood staring at the clearing. Pieces of rope were still attached to two of the trees, and the tape player had been resting at the base of one of them, next to a bloodied bat. For a moment, there was no response from his companion, but Sherlock shook himself slightly, and turned away from the blood smeared trees.

"Yes…. He's getting impatient with his own game. I am beginning to question whether Moriarty will be able to keep Watson alive until he finishes this 'game' of his. It's probably been years since he let himself get so close to the action, and he will relish every blow, and be entertained when she rallies."

"You believe she's still fighting, then."

"I _know_ she's still fighting…. This clearing… It was a test and a challenge. She would've noticed the open area, and tried to run. I only hope her valiant efforts didn't cost her too dearly." He sighed and strode over to a well-trodden region several yards from the scene. "He had gunmen surrounding the place, making sure no one approached and she didn't escape. If she had an opportunity to run, he wasn't here from the start. He's up to something else, and probably using this fiasco to distract forces from London. …There are almost _no_ clues here…. What is he _doing_?" Sherlock wandered back to the cars, got in, and retreated into his mind.

_The tape was almost entirely a soundtrack of Watson crying out as he attacked her, and occasionally catching her breath to hurl insults at him… Almost. Once, she said something particularly loudly, as though to make sure it was recorded._

"_Too bad Sebastian Moran took the first hit of the day from you! I guess your expert gun isn't such an expert _at playing second fiddle_." Sebastian Moran, expert gun for hire. Interesting. Watson was implying that Moriarty had a disgruntled but well-rebuked employee very close to him, possibly as second in command… _

_Then, near the end of the tape, Moriarty stopped and walked close to the recording machine. Whispering, as though to keep Watson from hearing, he told Sherlock that the next 'point' would be 'closer to home' and that he was 'taking the game to the next level.'_

"_But don't worry, Sherlock, dear… I know this scene will leave you soooo confused, but I wouldn't want to have to wait _too_ long, so I've just given you a couple location hints. This game requires the ability to see the big picture… You don't want to be narrow minded. _Small-mindedness can get people killed_."_


	8. Ch 7: Third Degree Heart Burn

**A/N: This is ugly. Proceed at your own risk. Normally, this chapter would focus back on Watson… but I don't really want to be inside her head for this, so it's more … broken.**

February 26th

_If I allow myself to be emotionally compromised, he will kill her. _

She once again woke up in the woods, this time in another tent. She couldn't see any guards, but that was probably because she was already restrained, her wrists pinned to the ground next to her head.

_Why did he emphasize the word "point" in his speech?_

"…Hello?" There was no response, and she began to wonder if something had gone wrong with Moriarty's plans. "What the hell?" The silence seemed deafening after days of so much talk.

_If I disappoint him, he will kill her._

Just as she began straining at her restrains, she felt - more than saw - a shadow fall over her from the tent's entrance. She looked up, and went still. Moriarty's evil grin seemed even more predatory than usual, and he walked towards her almost in slow motion.

_It's always something small at first. The dead bulb from one of the men's flashlights?_

When he was standing over her, she watched as he pulled a small square out of his pocket… As he took off his jacket, and started unbuttoning his fancy shirt. _Shit._ She couldn't believe the psychopath was actually going so far in trying to break her.

_If I can't play his game, he will kill her._

"Stay the fuck away from me, Moriarty!" She wriggled like a hooked fish, but it did no good. The front of his pants was already bulging in anticipation as he used his pocket knife to tear her clothes. "You'll regret this!"

"Oh, I don't think so. I think the part I'll regret will be _not getting to kill you_."

_That flashlight wasn't an accident; there's a logo on it. That company… I know it. But they went out of business three years ago. OH! Downley! Where? Where in Downley?_

_You're late – JM_

_ I'm banging my head against a tree I'm so bored – JM_

_ Oh! There are woods near the old company building in Downley!_

_ I considered giving her to you if you got here – JM_

_ There's no time to call Lestrade._

_ I told her I thought you might show up this time – JM_

_ Shut up! Shut up! He's taunting both of us._

_ Too late – JM_

_ No! I'm almost there._

_ I'm disappointed in you Sherlock – JM_

_ Oh shit. Don't do this Jim._

_ So is Jane – JM_

_ Oh God._


	9. Ch 8: On the Edge

**A/N: I am SO SORRY. Last chapter was terrible, and then I allowed myself to cringe away from writing more. I am soooo sorry. Things get less violent from here. Jim has other things to do.**

February 27th

She thought for sure this time that she was going to die. When Sherlock didn't show up in the woods, Moriarty had practically thrown a temper tantrum, ranting about how Sherlock's sentiment was making him stupid. It was a relief when Moran came with a blanket and the syringe.

_Lestrade found Sherlock kneeling next to what seemed to be a hole from a tent spike, staring at the clearing blankly._

_ "Sherlock?" he said softly. "What has he done?"_

_ "I thought he was going to kill her."_

_ "What? I thought – " Sherlock stood without turning around._

_ "I was mistaken."_

_ "Oh." The two men stood in silence until the rest of the team started working on the scene._

Waking up on the floor of house beats coming to on the ground in some woods any day, Jane thought, but she hoped the house had been abandoned. The room she was in looked as though it had been someone's lounge, but most of the furniture was gone. In one corner, there was a large, thread-bare pink chair; it faced the opposite corner, which had a television atop a cabinet.

_Sherlock was having trouble thinking, having trouble like he hadn't since Irene Adler. The tape Moriarty had left told him clearly what had happened, but the last half of it was mostly Jim monologuing at Sherlock._

_ "I know you'll be thinking I've killed the good doctor, but don't be _boring_. I haven't finished drawing the diagram, and you can't connect dots that you can't _see_. We're _both_ very disappointed in you, Sherlock, but I think Miss Watson may be stronger than she looks. Lucky for her, I suppose, since she doesn't look like much… That's just _perfect_, though. The last puzzle piece should squash any naïve hopes…"_

As she struggled to get up off her stomach despite her hands being cuffed behind her back, she heard Moriarty come in and chuckle darkly. She couldn't hide her shudder as he dragged a foot along her leg, but it made her all the more determined to struggle. Without warning, Moriarty brought his foot down hard on her ankle, and she cried out as something snapped.

"Let's not get any ideas, Doctor." He leaned over and flipped her onto her back to glare into her face. "You are _the thorn in my side_, bitch. I play the game, and I don't cheat on my own rules, because how _pedestrian_, but this is pissing me off. You are the freak of nature, not Sherlock. Who the hell survives being carved, scarred, marked, beaten, bludgeoned, _fucking raped_, and still thinks their beloved detective can saved them?! I've dislocated joints! I've carved my mark into your skin! AND STILL YOU HAVE THE GUTS TO TRUST IN SHERLOCK HOLMES."

She cowered in absolute terror has he listed the tortures he'd inflicted on her as though they were nothing more than a checklist. A memory flashed in her mind, of Mycroft's cold, calculating face… _"Bravery is just another word for stupidity, isn't it?"_ And she trembled.

But Moriarty looked shocked and then even more enraged as she gasped, took a deep breath, and Set. He had never seen anyone look like that. She set her jaw in a stoic grimace. She set a hardness in her eyes. She set steel in her spine. And she stopped tensing her injured leg.

"I don't care if you kill me. Rip me to _shreds_, Jim. DESTROY ME. But when you leave the pieces for Sherlock to find… He'll be able to tell in the _microscopic bits_ that he peers at, that I never stopped fighting. I never stopped believing in Sherlock Holmes."


	10. Ch 9: Spider, Spider

(sunrise) February 28th

Sherlock's phone buzzed in the middle of a glaring match with the evidence, which was telling him nothing relevant. He considered ignoring it, until he remembered it could be Moriarty.

_Dead men can't cross me. Or cheat. Thank goodness there's a house full of them. – JM_

For a moment he was horrified, for another moment after that he was confused; then, his brain set to work, whirred out observations: That first sentence sounded odd – deliberate. A clue, then. Second half partially a threat, mostly just to worry me. Probably honest. Why is he giving me a clue? I'm losing the game. He won't cheat – that's no _fun_. This whole thing is a distraction. It's not just for him. He's distracting me. Distracting the police. Probably going to blow something up. Hasn't done an explosion in a while, hasn't strapped Jane to a bomb. Been done, 'boring,' tried that. Think, _think_! Jane. Watson. Watching me dance, except I apparently don't know the _steps_ to this. OH. 'Diagram.' 'Point.' 'Connect the dots.' Bloody _hell_, I _am_ an idiot!

"STUPID. Stupid. Of course! Nothing's isolated, he's a spider! LESTRADE!"

_Jane had been sitting huddled in that damn chair so long she officially hated pink. That thought, however, was rather buried in her mind. Her hair covered her face, part of her efforts to block out the video playing on the blasted TV, but the voice was loud enough Moriarty must have killed the whole town to have no one running in. _

_IbelieveinSherlockIbelieveinSherlockHolmesIbelieve inSherlockIbelieveinSherlockHolmesIbelieveinSherlo ckIbelieveinSherlockHolmesIbelieveinSherlockIbelie veinSherlockHolmesIbelieveinSherlockIbelieveinSher lockHolmes I believe in Sherlock! _

_She was internally shouting at herself, trying desperately to block out the sneering video. For the past several hours, Moriarty had left her to sit with her broken ankle cuffed to the heavy chair as his video played on repeat. Having been fed the bare minimum required to keep her consciously alive for the past week, Jane didn't have the strength to try and escape anymore. All she could do was wait and pray. She wasn't sure who she was praying to – God or Sherlock._

Lestrade rushed in, and Sherlock began firing deductions at him as slowly as his flaming mind could stand. It was just slow enough, and Lestrade started shouting orders, sending a small army of squads, blaring sirens, to the building on the outskirts of London where Mycroft was "attending" (holding) a morning conference of government administrators. The policemen had only gotten Mycroft and a handful of others out when an explosion caused the whole structure to shake and then collapse.

_Thank you for being more observant than I was, brother_ – MH

Sherlock didn't respond to the message, though it was more humble than Mycroft had ever been. He was too busy piecing together Watson's location from Moriarty's clues to worry about some government suits and Jim's more commercial distractions.

_Jane had retreated into her head a few hours before the sun peeked through the blinds of the house, but still the words Moriarty had recorded himself shouting at her through the screen pierced her ears._

"_YOU THINK SHERLOCK CAN STOP ME?_

_HE'S_

_NOT_

_COMING!_

_HE'S AN IDIOT COMPARED TO ME!_

_YOU'LL BE DEAD BEFORE HE FINDS YOU!_

_HE'LL NEVER GET HERE!_

_HE'S_

_NOT_

_COMING!_

_There's a bullet with Sherlock's name on it, and I don't even need Moran to shoot it!_

_Your _detective_… Where is he now? Where's he been all week? ALL WEEK?"_

_and repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Not coming. _Yes he is_. No, not coming. _Always.

Sherlock had several police cars behind him as he sped up to Deadman's Cross, but he knew the only backup he'd need would be the forensics team. As he'd already told Lestrade, Moriarty probably thought the town's name was hilarious. Probably already killed half the population just so they wouldn't hear or see anything. Probably already moved Watson. For once, he hated being right. Right on all accounts… But this was different, like the game was ending…


	11. Ch 9-5: Progress

**A/N: Allow me to apologize for this mildly depressing tidbit. Actual chapter coming soon.**

(dusk) February 28th

Sherlock knew that bracing himself hadn't done anything at all, that cold horror had done the same thing to him as the initial shock had on day one. He knew because Lestrade was shouting his name again, and he was kneeling blankly in front of the television.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" Lestrade shook his shoulder. "Are you hearing me?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and stood up slowly, gently shaking off the DI's hand. For a moment, it looked as though he was about to deliver his usual stream of smug deductions, but he turned away silently and walked out of the house.

_Moriarty was, in fact, _done _with this game. He'd wanted to use breaking Watson to break Holmes, but she wouldn't break, at least not visibly… So he gave the detective one last chance to get her out of the web: the _big picture_. Watson had endured several versions of torture, far more pain than being a soldier ever inflicted, but everything he did, he did for a reason. He hadn't bothered with red herrings, because the amount they would have slowed Sherlock down could easily make the game oh-so-_boring_… But he still might be late… That would be perfect._

Lestrade found Sherlock sitting on the steps up to the front door, staring at the ground. As soon as he'd heard the video, he'd realized why it affected the younger Holmes so strongly. Friendship was new to the man, and he couldn't have realized how unshakeable Jane was, even from the beginning. _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_. Everything about the woman _screamed_ it, like a radiation glow. Of course, a lot of people saw it as love, but Greg tried not to speculate. Why shouldn't it be both? Sitting down next to the man he never thought he'd allow himself to call a friend, the inspector couldn't help flashing back to that first case…

_"Why do you put up with 'im, then?"_

_ "I need him, God help me.… and because Sherlock Holmes is great man, and I think one day, if we're very lucky, he might even be a good one_," he'd said, but she'd stared at him scoldingly, like she somehow saw a good man right then, and wondered why no one else bothered.

He wondered why _he'd_ never bothered.


	12. Ch 10: His Nightmare

March 1st

Moriarty had a rather smug expression on his face when he saw the state Watson was in after Deadman's Cross.

"Ja-ane… Is the doctor in? No? Shame – I'm suffering from a bad case of _bored_."

"Go… go to hell," she whispered, but the mastermind just laughed and turned back to his cronies.

"Who carried her down the steps before? Clay? Good. Take her to the drop off point, get her into position, and get out." He flicked out his knife, the same one from the first day, as he turned back to Watson. For once, he didn't waste time making a dramatic speech, just whispered "nighty-night" in her ear as he pulled her to her feet. He stabbed the knife into her abdomen, a well-placed jab that would take a couple painful hours to bleed out from, and shoved her at John Clay, professional low-life.

_"Sherlock? Do you know what he's doing? We searched the whole place, but there was no tape, just that video and a bit of blood where you said Jane was cuffed to the chair."_

_ "Obviously that means the game is ending because he no longer needs to distract our efforts from London – no doubt some smugglers escaped last night or a suicide you'll find in the Thames was actually murdered, but there was never time to do both cases, so the lack of clues is a clue itself, but how? Earlier he said I'd need to connect the dots – could he mean that quite so literally? That's insane – well, he _is_ insane, then again. I need a very large map!"_

_The last sentence was directed at the Scotland Yard in general, and a few people darted off in search of one. When they'd found one big enough, he smoothed it out over the table and began marking it. Lestrade gaped as he saw what was appearing under Sherlock's hand._

"_You've _got_ to be kidding me! We're running around the countryside and he's _drawing_ a bloody_ star _on the _map_? … But, how does this show us where Jane is, Sherlock?"_

"_She's in Luton."_

"_What? But – oh." He cut off when Sherlock pointed to the Luton tube station. It was directly in the center of the star._

xXxXxXxXxXx … *in a shadowy corner of the station in Luton* … xXxXxXxXxXx

Jane didn't really feel the stab wounds or the memory-ache between her legs or the bruises anymore… She didn't really even feel the concrete she was sitting on or the wall at her back. She was floating in a vague sea of blind pain, cutting herself off as much as she could from the hunger, trauma, and brokenness. Behind her eyes, memories flashed and darted, trying to protect her from thinking too hard: limping down the streets of London, running after Sherlock, laughing with Lestrade, watching Sherlock antagonize Anderson, telling Sherlock _for God's sake eat something_, apologizing to Mrs. Hudson, finding body parts in the fridge…

But the memories turned on her, and suddenly she saw the time Sherlock's night at the Chinese "circus" almost got her and Sean killed, the time Moriarty threatened to blow her up, the way Irene kept finding her way into their flat, the way Jane put up Sherlock's perpetual rudeness and cold shoulder and insults without any affection in return… and she began to slip farther and farther away.

_By the time he found her, medics told him, she had about thirty minutes before blood loss drained her so badly she couldn't be saved. As it was, they didn't let him near her again for two days, afraid he'd accidently hurt her, apparently. Ridiculous. Sherlock hovered anyway, not sleeping and only sipping at coffee when Lestrade showed up and shoved some in his hand._

Just when Jane was drowning, collapsing under doubts and horror and sadness, she _felt_ something, and she was suddenly _sure_ it was physical. A hand on her shoulder? Hands on her shoulders. It seemed as though they were dragging her back into her body, and she could feel the tears pouring down her face as the pain surged back in, but she still couldn't seem to find the strength to look for the owner of those hands. No need – a face appeared in her line of sight, blurry but painfully familiar. _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_. She managed to glance at his terrified face before passing out at last.

She didn't realize she'd murmured it out loud.


	13. just a note

**Sorry, so sorry.**

This isn't technically a chapter.

This a note to tell you that the story will be continued in a sequel:

_Now Stand Thirty Ghosts_

Same story, different focus.

Love you all and thanks so much for reading!


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